


A Terrible Thing to Waste

by thealphagate_archivist



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-15
Updated: 2006-03-15
Packaged: 2019-02-02 02:27:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12717813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thealphagate_archivist/pseuds/thealphagate_archivist
Summary: Bad decisions sometimes have uncomfortable outcomes.





	A Terrible Thing to Waste

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the archivists: this story was originally archived at [The Alpha Gate](https://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Alpha_Gate), a Stargate SG-1 archive, which began migration to the AO3 in 2017 when its hosting software, eFiction, was no longer receiving support. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are this creator and it hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Alpha Gate collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/thealphagate).

Jack hesitated as he strode through the door into the briefing room. His brows arched as he noted the presence of the base psychiatrist at the polished table. Shit. What the hell was it this time?

Slowly, he lowered himself into one of the remaining empty chairs. Carter and Teal'c were already present, pointedly directing their gazes anywhere except at the white-coated man. Fraiser, though seated next to the other doctor, wasn't talking to him. Her mouth was tense, her eyes fixed downward on tightly folded hands.

"Colonel, where's Doctor Jackson? You're both late."

"He'll be along, Sir. He was just grabbing a cup of... coffee..." His voice trailed off as the missing member of his team walked into the room and jerked to a halt, staring coldly into MacKenzie's emotionless face.

"Ah, good. Have a seat, Doctor." Hammond shuffled and sorted the papers in front of him. "Shall we get started? We've got some important changes to discuss."

Jack's mouth twitched. If the idea weren't so absurd, he'd think the general was chattering nervously. Somehow, he thought they weren't going to like these 'important changes.'

He watched as Daniel moved stiffly toward the table, seating himself beside Jack and as far away from the two lab coats as possible.

Hammond cleared his throat, then folded his hands on the polished surface of the table.

"The... ah... we've been having some pretty high level discussions concerning the... unfortunate events of last week." 

Daniel jumped at the word 'unfortunate,' sloshing coffee onto his hand. His mouth pursed tightly as he wiped his fingers with a handkerchief. Every pair of eyes was focused on his bowed head as he dropped the cloth and wrapped long fingers around the warmth of his mug.

"It's been decided that we should institute a system of periodic, frequent psychological evaluations for all active members of SG teams, in an effort to prevent any repetition of Dr. Jackson's... difficulties."

The announcement was met by dead silence. Daniel had stilled every muscle in his body, his hands clenched rigidly around the ceramic mug.

"This is not a sensible course of action, General Hammond." Jack started at Teal'c's carefully controlled words. "Daniel Jackson's apparent instability was, in fact, not the result of any problem within his own mind."

"Right, Sir," Sam offered. "What's the point of a periodic psych evaluation? Daniel was sick because of a piece of technology, not because he'd been going through the gate."

MacKenzie smiled smoothly. "We've been expecting problems to develop among teams..."

"No."

"Doctor Jackson?" Hammond's expression turned disapproving.

"No. Immovably... irrevocably... unequivocally no, no, no." The words were sharp edged and hard.

"I'm afraid the choice isn't yours to make, Son. It's already been decided."

"The hell it isn't! You..." he swept his hand between Jack and Sam... "may not have any damned choice, but I sure as hell do. And I am not **ever** again submitting to that kind of mistreatment!"

"Now, Daniel," MacKenzie soothed. "This wouldn't involve..."

"What? Wouldn't involve leaping to unwarranted conclusions? Wouldn't involve allowing your damned pet hypotheses to color your piss-poor judgment? Wouldn't what, **Doctor** MacKenzie?"

"Just relax, Daniel..."

"And you can stop patronizing me right damn now!"

Jack knew his mouth was hanging open. He'd just heard more swearing from his archaeologist in two minutes than he could recall hearing in the last year. Two years.

Daniel abruptly rose to his feet. "We've been going through that Gate for what—two and a half years since you dragged me back from Abydos? In that time, we've encountered a virus that turns perfectly reasonable, intelligent people into grunting, aggressive primitives; we've experienced nanotechnology that causes a person to live a lifetime virtually overnight; we've been trapped by a machine that switches personalities from one brain to another; we've walked through a mirror that took us to an alternate reality; we've had false memories implanted in our minds; we've spent hours, maybe days inside an encompassing virtual reality device; we've been technologically duplicated so perfectly that our robot selves were **indistinguishable** from us; we've encountered gasses that can subsume the mind; we've visited a planet where sounds we couldn't hear altered our personalities and behavior. For God's sake, we've been doing almost daily battle with a race of **snakes** that can invade and parasitize victims, completely dominating their hosts' personalities." He was flushed and breathing hard, shaking with the passion of his words. He leaned forward and propped his hands against the edge of the table, gaze flicking from one face to another. "So when Daniel Jackson comes back from a mission and starts to act strange, what conclusion do we leap to? Do we think 'alien technology'? Do we wonder about unknown infectious organisms? Do we investigate the likelihood of outside intervention? Do we consider the possibility of an imposter?"

"Or do we..." He twisted around and speared Jack with burning eyes, "...maybe because Dr. Jackson 'can be a bit flaky on a good day,' or..." he whipped his head back to stare at MacKenzie, "because we've been 'expecting something like this'—do we grab the straightjackets and the mind-killing drugs and **God damned lock him away for the rest of his life**?"

Jack tried to swallow the breath-stealing lump in his throat. Oh, God. 

"Tell me, **Doctor** MacKenzie... Just **why** were you 'expecting something like this'? Because of carefully analyzed data? Evidence? Outside consultation with experts in interstellar travel and its effects on the human mind? Oh, I forgot. There aren't any experts, are there? You didn't have data or evidence either, did you? Just speculation... your private, personal hypothesis, with not a single scrap of supporting data. And now you want to use what you did to **me** as a substitute for the evidence you don't have. What possible justification could there be for 'periodic psychological evaluation' of gate teams **other** than your opinion—your **baseless** opinion—that what we do will lead to mental breakdown? Do I have to remind you? I **didn't** suffer a breakdown! I was **attacked** , and you were too damned biased toward your pet speculation to even suggest that any other explanation be explored!"

MacKenzie seemed unmoved. "Doctor Jackson, modern psychiatric science suggests..."

"God **damn** it!" Daniel straightened abruptly and strode to MacKenzie's end of the table. He leaned across the wooden surface, thrusting his reddened face close to the psychiatrist's. "'Modern psychiatric science' is a criminally unsupported, destructive pseudo-science! It's based ninety percent on wild supposition and wishful thinking. The 'literature' of psychiatry bears more resemblance to the mythology I've studied all my life than it does to anything remotely scientific. Or medical for that matter. And yes, I've read your journals and texts. You're a quack, MacKenzie. Worse, you're a quack with an ossified brain and a limited sense of ethical responsibility." He straightened and faced the general. "And the least I will do to avoid **ever** sharing another conversation with this man..." his finger jabbed toward MacKenzie, "... is resign. Then I'll begin exploring my legal options with regard to malpractice and liability! No, General Hammond, it **hasn't** already been decided. This is not a decision I will allow you or anyone else to make for me. No psych evaluations. Not now. Not periodically. Not. Ever."

The frozen silence shivered with agony finally given voice. 'On a good day you can be a little flaky.' Jack had said that. He remembered saying it. But he didn't believe it. Not really. Did he?

Daniel straightened, briefly closed his eyes, and drew a deep breath. Then he met the general's stunned gaze.

"You let me know what you decide, Sir. I'll be in my office."

He turned on his heel and hurried out the door.

"Daniel!" Jack jumped to his feet and ran after him. "Wait, Daniel!"

Daniel stopped but didn't turn. Jack gently grasped a tense shoulder. "Daniel, I'm sorry..."

"About what, Jack? About that 'flaky' crack? About never quite taking me seriously? Or maybe about letting them cart me off and tuck me away where no one was required to watch what I was going through?

Jack flinched. "Daniel... Danny, I understand..."

"Understand? The hell you do!" Daniel pivoted around to face him. "You don't understand anything. They strapped me up and hauled me off and filled me full of terrible chemicals that... that... just destroyed me. All my life, the one thing that I've always been able to depend on was my mind. And they just... just wiped it out. I couldn't think... couldn't talk coherently. They treated me like an animal. No not even an animal. Like a piece of inconvenient furniture. And I... I... was so alone."

Jack's eyes were stinging. 'Only thing I've been able to depend on...' Oh, God. He was finally beginning to see how terribly they'd failed this man.

"I've never in my life been so afraid." Daniel's voice had dropped to a whisper. "Hopeless, terrified, and alone. Even when you came, you... none of you would touch me. If I hadn't jumped on Teal'c..." He was shaking again, arms wrapped tightly around his torso.

Jack shook his head weakly, unable to find any words adequate to salve the awful wounds they'd inflicted on a dear friend. 

"Oh, Daniel. Oh, God... I...I'm so sorry. We were so out of our depth—had no idea what to do... Please, Daniel. We are so very sorry."

Daniel stared at the floor, rocking slightly forward and back. Then his eyes lifted to meet Jack's anguished gaze. A small, obviously forced smile curved his lips.

"I know, Jack. I really do. But..." he looked away. "But I just need some time to find my feet again. Just some privacy to shout at walls." He laughed faintly. "Sorry about..." He jerked his head back toward the briefing room. "Tell the others I'm sorry, okay?" He thought for a moment. "All but MacKenzie. I meant every word I said to him; if I have my way, I'll never look at him again. He **was** criminally negligent, Jack. He was supposed to be the expert, and he just never thought. Oh, and I was also dead serious about the psych evaluations. Please don't try to force me to go through that, Jack. I **will** quit."

Jack gripped his shoulder, then pulled him into a gentle hug. "I'll see to it. Don't sweat it."

They held each other for a long moment, then pulled awkwardly apart, not quite meeting each other's eyes. 

"Umm. I told the general I'd be in my office. I'd better..."

"Yeah, okay. Go on. I'm going back to face the quack-dragon. Promise, Danny... you'll never have to see him again."

Daniel nodded, then turned and hurried down the corridor.

Jack stood watching his retreating back, thoughts in turmoil. Give him space; give him time. But then... Well, Daniel Jackson **wasn't** alone, despite what he might think. And there were other things he could depend on; it was time he learned about them.

Nodding decisively, Jack squared his shoulders, about-faced and marched back toward the battle waiting in the briefing room.


End file.
